


Finding a Sense of Self

by Nym_Blacktyde



Series: Finding a Sense of Self [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Pansexual Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Reconciliation, Reincarnation, Romance, Slow Burn, Whump, identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-03 00:32:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11520771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nym_Blacktyde/pseuds/Nym_Blacktyde
Summary: Coming to terms with who we are, who we were, and who we are going to be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trying something new! It’s been a long while since I’ve tried my hand at writing, so please let me know what you think!
> 
> I want to send a HUGE thank you to tumblr user MerlinHQ!!!   
> They gave me invaluable insight and constructive feedback, acted as an amazing cheerleader when I reached out looking for support, and helped to get this little brain-seed organized and cohesive! Love and infinite hugs! 
> 
> Welp, here is part one!

_It’s so changed. What good is remembering a place if you can’t recognize it?_

  
Jason Pennbrooke hitched his backpack up a little further on his shoulders with a grunt, so as to be able to slip a hand into his back pocket and retrieve the map he’d picked up when he checked into the hostel back in Bristol. By his estimation, there was roughly 20 miles until his destination would even be visible.

He could have simply hopped a bus, and been no more than an hour traveling, but he felt it would have been too quick, too surreal to suddenly arrive. He wanted, needed, to travel the final leg of this trip on foot, to see how it all had changed, and to give himself time.A swathe of memories danced through his thoughts for a moment, and he remembered the first journey to his current destination.

The apparent stone that had been knocking about his intestines for the last ten miles grew heavier briefly, but he used the discomfort to shake himself out of his thoughts, tuck the map away, and carry on down the cobbled road towards Glastonbury.

_**Hours down the road...** _

The figure of Jason Pennbrooke came into view summiting a hilltop. The tall grass on either side of the small road he followed was cold and dewy, just shy of turning to frost. The first rays of dawn had peeked over the horizon, highlighting the townscape of Glastonbury sprawling below.

Jason had hiked through the night, as ill-advised and foolish as he knew it was, but he found himself far too alert and anxious to even consider trying to rest.  
Breathless for reasons beyond his recent summit, Jason found himself fighting for air as wide blue eyes looked past the charming village below, to another hilltop upon which a small stone tower perched.

Glastonbury Tor was not the ruins he remembered being told of. The town of Glastonbury itself would lie at the bottom of the once lake he remembers glimpsing through a haze of pain and fever.  
There was nothing the same. The ruins were lost to time and replaced, the land changed, thriving civilized life where there was once water. He couldn't recognize where he had once come to die.

The man born into this age as Jason Pennbrooke's knees gave out as memories of a different life razed his mind. It was then the sun itself finally emerged from behind distant hills, and burned through the last of the morning mist. Warm rays bathed The Once King in red-tinged light as he grieved for himself and long dead friends.


	2. Chapter 2

On cobbled streets grey and mysterious in the heavy morning mists, a man hunched either due to age or the stiff chill wound his way amongst shuttered shops. He moseyed until he came to an abrupt halt in front of a small white brick building with soft gold letters embossed on its windows: "The Fields of Yore: Floral Shoppe". The man reached out a gloved hand and grasped the doorknob, turning it under his hand, the soft creak as the door swung inwards the only sound to be heard. Had there been another soul out and about so early on, they might've looked at just the right moment to notice that the man had not procured a key to unlock the small shop's door.

The man entered the shop, the velvet red wooden door swinging shut behind him with a soft protest. A warm light suddenly burst from within, and thus the man went about his daily rituals to prepare for the people of Glastonbury, and their numerous and predictable needs for floral arrangements.

**_Later at a slightly more reasonable hour…._ **

The morning had yet to warm under the risen sun's rays, when the people of Glastonbury awoke to commence their daily rituals. The bakery at the end of the street's windows were cracked open, and the smell of baking yeast wafted under the door of every flat on the block. The temptation of fresh scones with jam for breakfast drew young and old couples, uni students home for the week and heads of hungry households out into the chill.

The hustle and bustle of so many little worlds spilled into the street an elderly old man stood upon, busying himself organizing all manner of bouquets. There were hasty apology wildflowers, last minute anniversary roses, and colorful, get-well tulips, all displayed on a cart out front of his shoppe. As the soft patter of the occasional early riser gave way to chatter and high density foot traffic, a small smile formed underneath long, thick white bristles. The man gave one last loving primp and pluck to his flowers before he turned to retreat from the cold, but found his coat to be snagged on something. Expecting the ratty old thing had been caught on the edge of his little rolling cart, he turned to find himself looking down into a great big pair of golden brown eyes. Wide, innocent, wary eyes, framed by the most pinchable cheeks the smitten old man had ever laid eyes on (and that was saying something).

"Well, hello down there,” he rumbled good-naturedly, squatting down to save the little girl's poor, craned neck. "Are you looking for some flowers today?" His coat was still held tight in her chubby fist as she nodded fervently, but now her serious frown fought a wobbly battle with an eager smile.

"I need flowers to make Gammy better, puh-lease. Gammy's doctor says flowers are good medicine." The man felt as though the pure little thing were tugging on his heartstrings rather than just a fistful of his coat.

Before he could open his mouth to respond to the girl's plea, a woman's voice called out, drawing the child's attention. A ruffled woman trotted up to where the pair of them stood, and after catching a breath, uttered,

"Jenny! Don't run ahead like that! I'm so sorry for any mischief she's gotten into." The elderly man smiled kindly up at the flustered mother, whilst grunting under his breath as he levied hands against knees to assist his body--weak and heavy with added years--in retaining its full height.

"No mischief here to be sorry for, though now and again a little mischief never hurt anybody, eh?" he turned and sent an exaggerated wink at the little girl named Jenny, who giggled, and swung the arm still attached to his coat gaily. The man found himself transported, the innocent smile on the girl's face reminding him of _her_ face. Her smile had always been kind and gentle and unjaded, even after being left to rule a kingdom partnerless, young and stricken with grief.

It took the man a moment to find the carefree persona he had thought to be genuine until that bittersweet reminder ripped it out of his grasping hands. He cleared his throat, relieved to notice his pause hadn't been long enough to concern his audience. He turned to Jenny's mother, placing a gnarled hand atop the capped head of his adorable leech.

"She's arrived on urgent business: good medicine for Gammy, as I understand it." The woman's eyes squinted ever so slightly, and old sadness tinged the smile she sent him.

"Ah, yes, my husband's mother has been bed-ridden for some time. Our doctor said anything we could think to do for her would help her spirits." _Meaning there is nothing left to be done for her body._ The thought was unwelcome but true. _Not true. I could help. Aiding the life of a grandmother is not meddling in mortal affairs in the grand scheme, is it?_ Bitterness momentarily swept through the man's heart. Hard-learned lessons, and dark, despairing years tugged at the seams of his stitched-together soul. But the man stared down at Jenny, who had released his coat to pet the petals of his pink and yellow tulips, and wavered.

"Forgive me if I am too forward, my dear, but may I ask what ails her?" The woman glanced down at her daughter, occupied with bright colors, and soft textures, and returned her gaze to him.

"Myocarditis. She's had so many episodes in the past six months the doctor put her on permanent bed rest. Her medication isn't helping her anymore. They say," The woman catches herself, glancing at her daughter as she continues to speak in a lowered tone, "They say, she, um, might _leave_ before Christmas."

The man sighed, nodding his head sadly. He turned and stared for a long moment at Jenny, her sweet face so much like Gwen's, and decided to bend his self-imposed rule. A rule he imposed for his own sanity: Do not use magic for mortals. _Only this once....but once is all it takes._ He reprimanded himself, despite knowing his decision was made.  
He turned a smile on the woman in front of him, and rumbled,

"Well we best get Gammy that good medicine, then." The woman's eyes shimmered as they filled with tears, and she quickly looked away as her daughter tottered back over to them.

"Mummy, let’s get Gammy the pretty tulips! Gammy loves tulips!"  
The man laughed at her enthusiasm, and bent to pluck the fullest bouquet he had, pink and yellow tulips in full bloom.

"Good choice my dear, but let your mother hold onto these. I've got a little something for you in back." He passed the flowers to Jenny's mother, and swept into his shoppe. He hustled past the storefront into a back room, shutting the door and blinds. He stopped in front of a small bonsai tree that appeared for all purposes to be long dead. The man rolled back his sleeves, and after a moment's hesitation, cupped his hands around the base of the tree and chanted in a foreign tongue. The words he spoke were known by few, even when speakers of its language were at their greatest numbers. No one alive would know the words he spoke. Not even devout descendants of the Druids had that knowledge anymore.

" ** _ábære_** **_lacnung_** , **_fæger_** **_blóstm"*_**

As he chanted his mantra, life seemed to bleed into the tree from the earth it was potted in. A green flush of health ran up its stout trunk, and suddenly one of the little branches began to produce a single, pale pink bud. As if watching a nature video in fast forward, the little bud grew and unfolded into a full sized Magnolia flower.

Despite the healing arts never having been his strong suit, so many lives' worth of experience makes a master of anyone eventually. Without seeing the woman himself, he could not heal her, but perhaps he could restore her quality of life, for a little longer. If he guesses right in what type of healing her body needed, what magic he could send with her family members might be exactly the spark this beloved grandmother needed to defeat the enemy entirely.

He reached out wizened hands to gently pluck the flower, and the moment it parted from the branch, the life leeched out of the tree as suddenly as it had come, and it returned to an unassuming dead root once more.

The man re-emerged from the shoppe, blossom cupped in one hand, and waved away the notes Jenny's mother tried to hand him with the other.

"They're my well wishes for Gammy. I won't be paid a pence for them, I insist." He then knelt down to Jenny's height once more, and proffered the magnolia to her.

"This is a very special flower. It's a wishing flower. So when you go visit your Gammy, I want you to close your eyes tight and wish for her to be well, and then place it next to her bed and let it do its work. Understood?" Jenny nodded rapidly, and brought tiny hands out to gently lift the flower from his outstretched palm. The man smiled, and raised his now empty hand to cup the side of the little girl's face.

"You be a good girl, now, and give your Gammy a big hug from me when you see her, yeah?"  
Jenny giggled and rewarded him with a big smile, matched by the one on her mother's face. As the man straightened himself once more, the woman grasped his arm, and pressed a quick kiss to his liver-spotted cheek.

"Thank you, you're very kind."  
He chuckled sadly in response.

"Oh no, dear, I'm really not. It's just your daughter reminded me of an old friend, and I couldn't possibly disappoint such a sweet face."  
She smiled, thanked him once again, and walked off with flowers and child in tow.

The man let out a soft sigh, cracked his back, and went to return to his business, when he noticed a person was standing on the other side of his flower cart. Taking a moment to shake off old memories, the man strode forward, turning his face up to greet his next customer, and found himself staring at a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *super loose translation of spell - bring healing, beautiful blossom


	3. Chapter 3

He was bedraggled, sandy hair dark with sweat, it had been at least a week since he had seen the proper end of a razor. The shin area of his carhartts were covered in mud and grass stains, as if he'd been kneeling out in a field not long ago. His widened eyes were intensely clear and royal blue, and if the old man had the head in that moment to pay more attention, he might have noticed the faint rim of red around them.  
There was a loud ringing in his ears, and the old man could only think that he'd once again cracked under the pressure of immortality. 

The ghost continued to stare at him, their adam's apple bobbing furiously, their mouth working soundlessly, and the blue eyes that haunted the old man's dreams filling with tears. 

_I've gone round the bend again. Get a grip. You can't lose it here, with all these witnesses, they'll have you committed. Have to get away. Have to get away from the people, then you can fall apart. Not safe for the people, you know what happened last time. It's not real, he's not real, it's--_

"Is...it can't be you, can it?" His voice was like a blow to the stomach, and the old man couldn't breathe. _Don't do this to yourself. Don't let this happen. You can't let yourself give in to it, not again, you just got yourself together again. But that voice--_

"I-I'm sorry, you just.....you look very much, like someone I knew. Or, rather, how he looked when he was....hiding from me, I suppose."   
The old man glanced around, looking for something focus on, to break the spell of this cruel hallucination. He cast about, and saw Jenny and her mother down the street, frozen midstep, about to round the corner and walk out of sight. The old man realized, with distant horror, that he had stopped the flow of time around them. _You're letting it get away from you. You're giving in to the lie, dammit! But at least there are no witnesses at the moment to call the hospital._

Before he could do more than process his own thoughts, the ghost's eyes followed his, and it gasped as it took in what he had. The ghost's breathing became stilted as they stared at the frozen people, the pigeons in suspended flight casting stationary shadows around them.

After a moment that seemed to have also been affected by the magic in the two's midst, the ghost wet their lips, and realization and desperate hope settled into the brilliantly blue gaze they turned back on the trembling man. 

"I-I came here, to try, to try and make sense of it all. My life—my life that isn't my life, but-but it was, is, me. A life that I left.....thousands of years ago. I've been trying...to find traces. Research, places, evidence that it all....happened. There wasn't.....there wasn't anything physical left to.....it's all changed." His long dead friend's face crumpled briefly. He returned his gaze to the old man's after a wretched pause, and steeled himself to continue. "I shouldn't have been so surprised, but.....everything from that life is gone.....just-just memories. But.....it is you, isn't it?" The ghost stumbled, before he found sure footing to step forward on, and the old man shuddered, frozen where he stood as his lungs screamed for air.

"I...I saw you down the street, y-your back was turned, and, and I knew, I was being daft, but for s-some reason I had to see your face. I saw you give that little girl a flower, and when you stood up I saw, I saw you, and I....how?" The ghost of his best friend moved forward another step, and the man, still hiding from him in an ancient husk centuries down the road, gasped out a pained sob.

"Y-you're, you're not real, I've, I can't, I know where this leads. You're not here. I can't do this again. Gods, I can't--"  
The apparition stumbled back a moment, two tears splashing down his face, but the elderly man's words seemed to confirm his convictions. He stole another step closer, now within the old man's reach. 

"Merlin." He breathed it out as if he hadn't appreciated air until that moment. "Gods, Merlin. It's, I am real, I-I'm here." Merlin was clutching his chest, tears trickling into a long white beard as he hunched forward, his eyes fixed to the person before him. Can it be? "I was, I was born, I was born into a new life, as, as Jason P-Pennbrooke, and I'm him, but, but also A-Arthur. I-I'm here Merlin, it's, it's really me, I swear to you."  
Merlin sobbed, his poor old face crumpled around bright blue eyes, and reached out a shaking hand to tentatively cup the man claiming to be his King's face. 

"Has it truly come to pass? Have you finally returned?" Arthur exhaled a soft cry, and suddenly Merlin found himself in the arms of his best friend, taken from him almost two thousand years past. Through unbidden sobs, he felt the firm press of a mouth to the crown of his head, and the warmth and strength of a living being against him.

" _Arthur_!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! I struggled a bit with the actual reunion scene. Wasn't quite sure how to play it, and keep them in character.


End file.
